Just get me the hell outta this place already!
by SlyRedFox
Summary: An insight into the mind of Imoen during the escape from the dungeon. It's surprising how long people can last when pushed to extremes. Times, and minds,are running out however.


Just get me the frickn' hell outta this place already

The second in a series of pieces from a larger kivan romance fanfic (the first being Assurances) that will be posted in full after considerable re-working, re-writing etc etc. The PC is Raven - an female elven ranger.

Until then I will be posting a few chapters from the fic that work ok as one shots. This one is a bit of an Imoen character study and is the kinda thing you can expect from her character in the fic.

Will be posting some Kivan fluff soon and maybe an Anomen character study.

Reviews are awesome and let me know whether I've got the characters down right for the larger fic. Sorry for the long intro!

Disclaimer: Bioware own Imoen and Baldur's Gate.

Gasping for breath, and for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour, Imoen silently thanked whichever God might be listening that she was still alive. The Gods seemed to be hearing a lot from her that day.

* * *

Imoen coughed, her lungs aching, her throat sore and wiped cold sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. The others weren't faring much better, taking continuous battering on already weakened and exhausted bodies, they were tiring quickly.

Minsc, stood over the fallen mercenary, the veins pulsed on his arms and his muscles bulged but his adrenaline was slipping, fatigue replacing rage and his shoulders sagged, cuts and scrapes burning a sickly red against his skin. Jaheira, usually so defiant and sure, looked old and defeated, grief and anguish threatening to consume her as she fought to stay in control. Khalid and Dhynaheir's deaths had been a painful blow to already pain filled minds and the effects of loss of their companions showed in their faces, their dragging feet, their slumped shoulders. Imoen bit her lip and looked away from the druid, feeling the burn of tears behind her tired eyes.

But if she thought Minsc and Jaheira looked bad, Raven looked even worse. Imoen turned her head towards their leader. She sat leaning against one of the many barrels that lined the room, one hand gripping tightly her bad leg, the other, a pale fist clutching a katana. It was obvious that these injuries were the residue of the latest tortures. The arrival of the intruders must have interrupted their captor while he was healing her, leaving her alive but broken. Imoen shivered to imagine what state she would have found Raven in if the trespassers had arrived just a little earlier. As it was, the elf could barely walk now, bruises ran up and down her arms, her lips were split and swollen, and two dark circles lay under her eyes. And those were just the physical scars. Imoen knew Raven had suffered the brunt of the tortures, her day had been filled with her friend's screams, more shrieks of anger than pain. Jaheira had tried to heal the woman's wounds of course, but she was so exhausted herself that her spells had had very little affect.

And yet Raven still carried on as if nothing could stop her, even now as she felt Imoen's eyes fixed on her, her back straightened, her hand released her leg and she stood as though she didn't look half dead. But Imoen was not fooled like their other companions. She had not failed to notice that her friend limped more heavily; drooped a little more when she thought no one was watching. Still, it had held them together so far, and even though Imoen was pretty sure it was all an act, it was still comforting. That's why Raven was a leader, and she was not and she did not envy her. Imoen didn't think she could hold it together like that for the sake of other people, she was not confident or in control, in fact, Imoen admitted to herself, she was sh*t scared, and having bitten down her nails to the quick a few hours ago, was now slowly devouring the tips of her fingers. Cracking nervous jokes had been her usual response to situations like these but jokes would not help them here, besides, they had all dried up with the sting of the knife. Fear was the only thing she felt now. She licked her dry lips nervously and shifted her attention to the man on her left.

Only the new addition to the group looked reasonably well. The dark skinned Kara-turian reloaded his crossbow with a click and slung it on his back, crossing his tanned arms in front of him. The group had collided with him as they fought and snuck their way through the warren of test labs and torture rooms. He had been a prisoner like they had, he had told them, with no recollection where he was or how he had got there. It had all sounded sickingly familiar. He had asked if he could join them. Imoen hadn't cared either way, she had simply wrung her hands, she just wanted outta here. But Yoshimo had proven trustworthy so far and good in a fight, and god, there had been a lot of them, she felt sick at how close to death they had come in the past few hours, or was that days? The ache of her body persuaded her it was the latter. Her raw hands stung and itched from casting spells; and they had all run out long ago. All she had now was the dagger clasped loosely at her side and the knowledge that if she didn't move quick enough, she'd die down here this day. She had to admit even that sounded a whole lot better than going back into that cage.

Yoshimo bent to pick up a fallen bolt and Imoen watched from her corner as the thief straightened, a wince twisting his features for a moment as he rubbed his chest gingerly. He turned, catching her glance as he did so and lowered his hand quickly giving her a grin, his white teeth flashing. Perhaps Raven wasn't the only one hiding something. A shout erupted from the corridor beyond breaking Imoen's wide eyed stare and making her jump, her hand fumbling for the dagger.

'Daylight! There's daylight here!'


End file.
